Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke
When the child was a
child
It walked with its
arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be
a river,
the river to be a
torrent,
and this puddle to be
the sea.
When the child was a
child,
it didn’t know that it
was a child,
everything was
soulful,
and all souls were
one.
When the child was a
child,
it had no opinion
about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat
cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its
hair,
and made no faces when
photographed.
When the child was a
child,
It was the time for
these questions:
Why am I me, and why
not you?
Why am I here, and why
not there?
When did time begin,
and where does space end?
Is life under the sun
not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear
and smell
not just an illusion
of a world before the world?
Given the facts of
evil and people.
does evil really
exist?
How can it be that I,
who I am,
didn’t exist before I
came to be,
and that, someday, I,
who I am,
will no longer be who
I am?
When the child was a
child,
It choked on spinach,
on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed
cauliflower,
and eats all of those
now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a
child,
it awoke once in a
strange bed,
and now does so again
and again.
Many people, then,
seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do,
by sheer luck.
It had visualized a
clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most
guess,
could not conceive of
nothingness,
and shudders today at
the thought.
When the child was a
child,
It played with
enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as
much excitement as then,
but only when it
concerns its work.
When the child was a
child,
It was enough for it
to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a
child,
Berries filled its
hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its
tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every
mountaintop,
the longing for a
higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an
even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for
cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it
still has today,
has a shyness in front
of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first
snow,
And waits that way
even now.
When the child was a
child,
It threw a stick like
a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there
still today.
